Awkward Entanglements
by Absentia
Summary: Yes, he decided. He just needed a good mystery to obsess him. He never could stand an unanswered question. summary inside
1. Episode 01: Wheels in Motion

**Summary:** AU, although it's oddly kind of a mix of Batman: TAS/TNA, JLU, and Teen Titans (CN) + maybe a little from the original Teen Titans. However, still vastly different, really. I'm not certain how far the superhero gig will play into this bit quite yet. I'm making it up as I go, but it should be a fun ride.

**Rating:** PG13?—R? R for elbow room.

**Disclaimer:** If I owned any of it, would I really be writing _fanfiction_? Think about it.

↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔

↔**_Episode: 01_**↔  
**_Wheels in Motion_**

↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔

It was a close, cold steel cage, a screaming metal deathtrap of reflective walls and agonizingly slow progress. He felt strangled at the throat by a leash that pulled him inexorably ever upwards, dragging at him with a dreadful, demanding persistence that ignored his squirming insides and the way he dug his heels into the carpet defiantly. And that damnable, monotonous, jaw-clenching _music_—

Dick Grayson tugged nervously at the tight collar of his white Egyptian cotton button-up, smoothing his slightly askew thin black tie and jerking at the cuffs of his black suit coat for what could only be the thousandth time in the past fifteen minutes. The instant he had stepped into the elevator, his carefully cultivated calm and confidence had bleached away under the ambient soft lighting. His firm resolve had been weathered relentlessly away by the "soothing" tones of the Muzak piped into his skull by the discreet little speakers hidden in decorative faux wall ferns, and had been replaced by a leaden and disagreeable resignation to the fate that awaited him on the fifty-fourth floor.

Tapping an expensive black Armani boot in time with the muddled beat of the detestably hypnotic elevator jazz, he counted the passing floors, running through an endless procession of scenarios that awaited beyond the elevator doors, none of them going at all well for him.

37…

Bruce had to be absolutely pissed. There was no way he was just going to forgive Dick for packing up and taking off to tour the globe in the middle of the night two years ago. Normal people would let a little thing like that go after 24 months, but no one was better acquainted with Bruce Wayne's terrifying superhuman ability to cling to a grudge forever than Richard Grayson.

41…

The minute Dick's feet had touched down on American soil again, the dread and anticipation had lain upon on his shoulders like a cloak, and he had been quite surprised it took the old man six months to get around to summoning his one-time ward and protégé. Of course, Bruce had been surprising him a lot recently.

49…

Now, Dick was the prodigal adopted son and heir to the Wayne corporate empire, a dubious position he wasn't at all sure he wanted. And Bruce was finally reeling him back into his shadow. The man's intimidating presence filled the huge office building like an oppressive and cloying heat, and Dick was itching and chafing under Bruce's mantle like a heavy wool blanket in June.

51…

Oh, god. He was almost there.

52…

Scrutinizing his appearance in the shiny reflective double doors, Dick touched the band at the nape of his neck, made to pull it out and let his hair fall free at his shoulders, then glared at himself irritably, forcing his nervous, flighty hands down by his sides. He would leave the ponytail. It would serve as a discreet annoyance to Bruce, who had always quietly demanded that Dick keep his thick blue-black hair cut conservatively short. Like him. Whether to accentuate the uncanny resemblance between them, or simply to exert his ever so precious control, Dick didn't care; both got on his nerves. Letting his hair grow out had been part of distancing himself from the years of being tucked closely under Bruce's imposing wing.

_Ding_.

The soft chime felt like a gunshot cracking up his spine, startling him from his bitter memoirs and focusing him with terrible alacrity on the slow glide of the elevator doors, the thin band of view that grew ever wider until he was looking down the path of a muted crimson pile runner. The long room was like an antechamber playing dress-up as a lobby, with real, thriving plants spilling green and vibrant in the warm sunny slats of the thin, high-arched Gothic windows. Plush armchairs and couches were arrayed about the area in feng shui arrangement, very New Agey and putting Dick in the mind of either an interior decorator—most likely—or a midlife crisis hobby—less likely, but the funnier possibility.

The room was clearly divided by the runner, and Dick felt awkwardly as if there ought to be people waiting primly for an audience with the Great Bruce Wayne, staring at him as he strode down that dividing line with a nonchalance and easy gait that didn't match how he felt. Frowning for a moment, he clamped down on the nervousness and feeling of unsuitability. Whatever Bruce had to throw at him in there, he could take it. He'd taken worse in his years, from his imposing father figure and others, and had a number of worldly experiences under his belt now that he'd gone running round the world.

He could handle this. Really.

Straightening his spine and easing his shoulders into an easygoing slump, he stopped before the shiny mahogany doors and turned the gleaming brass handle, swinging it inwards on silent, well-oiled hinges. _Nothing but the best for Bruce Wayne_.

To his surprise, however, he did not find himself directly in the presence of the most influential figure on his life, but in another little outer office, this one a good deal smaller and less opulent.

"Do you have an appointment."

What should have been a question was a deadpanned, slightly bored statement, issued by a young woman seated behind a neatly organized desk, her eyes not even on him, but darting back and forth between a flatscreen monitor and a stack of neat handwritten notes.

Dick raised an eyebrow at this—secretary?—taking in her appearance, from her pomegranate hair pulled into an immaculate bun, to the black framed oval glasses perched on a straight nose that turned up ever so slightly at the end, to the black polish on her neatly trimmed nails.

Impatient with his lack of response, she ceased tapping on the keyboard and straightened in her leather office chair, looking at him with an unsympathetic expression, uncolored lips pursed in a rankled moue, cobalt eyes merciless in their apathy. "Yes or no, it isn't a trick question."

"Then why do I feel as if I'm being graded?" He retorted smartly, ready to turn on the charm. Someone seriously needed to melt a few layers of ice from this stenographic queen.

As if dismissing him as unworthy of her full attention, she resumed her typing. "Because you're self-conscious and insecure. Do you have an appointment."

Brows raising towards his hairline, Dick couldn't decided whether to be amused or annoyed, and so simply replied instead. "Bru—Mr. Wayne is expecting me."

Fingers never faltering on the keyboard, she rolled her eyes and scoffed under her breath. "They always say that whenever they don't have an appointment." Flicking him a cold, antagonistic glance, she replied in monotone, in a rehearsed, unthinking way like a recording, "Mr. Wayne is not in the office at this time. If you have an appointment, please wait in the lobby. If you do not, I may take a message and Mr. Wayne will get back to you at his convenience."

Before Dick could form a response, the door opened behind him and the secretary/receptionist/female dropped her work completely and swiveled around in her chair to face the new arrival, face as expressionless as before but somehow less forbidding. "Welcome back, Mr. Wayne. This young man was just on—"

"His way into my office," Bruce finished for her smoothly, closing the door behind him and stepping between the unfriendly young woman and Dick. The girl actually affected a look of slight surprise, which seemed to compel Bruce to elaborate. "This is Dick Grayson," she raised a single brow in recognition of his name—apparently she'd been informed of who he was, but not that he would be meeting with Bruce today, "and I was expecting him to arrive shortly, before I was so unexpectedly called away to the forty-third floor."

Bruce looked from Dick to the young woman, his slight smile unreadable—his business smile. "Dick, this is Miss Roth, my personal assistant."

Dick glanced from the young woman with the cool stare and mask-like face and then back to Bruce, his brows on the rise yet again. "Personal assistant?" Never had Dick known Bruce to keep a personal assistant, on the very basis that he found such a business relationship far _too_ personal. Bruce was incredibly strict about his privacy and keeping his business and personal lives completely separate—well, ever since he grew out of the "bachelor" phase anyways. This was unusual behavior. Since when did Bruce trust anyone under his employ that much? Oh they had more to talk about than he'd thought.

It was Miss Roth's turn to quirk a brow at him, eyes assessing and inquiring behind the lenses of her glasses. However, she chose to ignore him, turning again to Bruce. "Mr. Wayne, shall I hold your calls while you and Mr. Grayson speak in your office?"

"Yes, please, Miss Roth, I would appreciate it." He turned, stopped, then turned around again and leaned his large hands on the edge of Miss Roth's orderly desktop. "Lunch is still on as scheduled, so interrupt us if it looks like we might run late. And I'll need twenty copies of these printed, four of them translated into formal Japanese, two in Russian, one in Czech." He tapped the neat stack of notes and straightened.

"Yes, Mr. Wayne." She nodded graciously and returned to her typing with renewed speed and attention, separating herself from them immediately in a seclusive bubble of dedication and aloof silence.

Following Bruce through the more plain wooden door and into his inner office, Dick slid into the overstuffed leather armchair directly facing the office chair only slightly more expensive than Miss Roth's behind Bruce's just as tidy desk.

As Bruce seated himself, Dick began along the line of inquiry at the top of his mind, voice casually curious. "I always remember your personal workspace being a disorderly mess of organized chaos."

"The work of Miss Roth, I assure you. She insists that everything be alphabetized and filed according to highly detailed categories and subsections." He smirked meaninglessly, propping his chin on his clasped hands. "Makes me miss the days of just having a secretary."

Dick was surprised—again. Bruce was cooperating with his questions, rather than being his usual frustratingly evasive and chronically mysterious self. "So why did you take up a personal assistant, Bruce? Daily life becoming too strenuous for you to manage on your own?"

Bruce relaxed and leaned back in his chair, chuckling dryly. "Hardly. I'm bored, more often than not."

"Then why Miss Roth?" Bruce's face was a smooth mask again, and Dick knew he wasn't about to get a straight answer—_ah, I knew it was too good to last_.

Bruce shrugged dismissively. "Why not?" He paused to look assessingly at his surrogate son. "It's good to see you again, Dick. The long hair looks good on you."

"Are you just _trying_ to throw me completely off balance at every turn, Bruce? Because it's beginning to work."

Bruce raised an eyebrow, hands toying with a decorative fountain pen idly. "A good many things can change in two years, Dick. For one thing, as… reluctant I may be to admit it, it is time I let you take control of your own life. And you've proven yourself quite sufficiently independent and capable of living your own life, I'll give you that." The sleek black pen flipped back and forth across the knuckles of Bruce's left hand, Dick's eyes following it unseeing in his state of shock. "But while I am glad for this little reunion, it is, of course, not my only motivation for calling on you."

Dick blinked, snapping out of the trance orchestrated by the fountain pen, focusing his gaze again on Bruce, who looked as cool and calm and collected and utterly unreadable as ever. "We do have… quite a lot to discuss. For one thing, why move your base of operations here? Wayne Enterprises' home office is still in Gotham, isn't it?"

Bruce's face was schooled and his voice very careful, as if they spoke around landmines of Things-That-Should-Not-Be-Said, and one misspoken word could get them killed. Although, in a depressingly realistic way, that observance wasn't too far off the mark. "The Gotham location is still the home office, yes. I'm the one who's changed locale, not the company. For the most important meetings, I'll be commuting back, just like the division heads and board directors. For other cases where my presence or consultation is necessary, I'll be presiding via videoconference." He looked at Dick with eyes that were tired and a bit sad, but nonetheless steely in their resolve. "Batman's retired, Dick; Bruce Wayne is still acting president and CEO."

Dick's eyes widened and his jaw went slack, shooting up to the edge of his seat and darting an anxious glance at the woefully thin wooden door separating the office from the reception room. For all the illusion of privacy it provided, such a flimsy structure couldn't possibly be soundproof. Had Bruce lost his mind? Walls had ears and often eyes, he'd taught Dick that himself!

Bruce smirked ruefully, as if he'd known Dick would react that way. "Don't worry, I personally account for Miss Roth's reliability and discretion. Even if she were listening, she would never disclose what she heard, not even under pain of torture."

"Jesus, Bruce… the _hell_? How can you be so sure?" Bruce just smiled and looked utterly confident. Dick felt the blood freeze in his veins and his stomach fill with lead. Licking his lips and clenching his fists to keep his fingers from drumming nervously, or from grabbing Bruce and shaking him, he asked, though he was terrified of the answer, "Bruce, just how much does this Miss Roth know?"

Bruce sat in grave silence for several long moments, and Dick knew he was mulling over just how to put what he wanted to say in a way that wouldn't alarm Dick too much, or maybe in a way that wouldn't reveal more than he wanted Dick to know. Dick wouldn't put either possibility past the old man. It was probably both.

"Bruce?"

Bruce seemed to make a decision at last, laying his palms flat against the desktop and looking Dick directly in the eye. Such deliberate eye contact meant Dick wasn't about to get a full story. _Typical_.

"Miss Roth knows enough. She is aware of things few others outside our usual inner circle are privy to, though she hasn't been given the full story in all its grisly details, nor do I intend to do such a thing. If that changes, you will be informed."

"_Why_? Why does she need to know any of it?"

Bruce looked at him almost as if he were being stupid. "She is my personal assistant, Dick; the title means what it says. It would be somewhat… difficult for her to fulfill her role in all its functions if she were unaware of such an integral part of the last twenty-odd years of my life." He looked tired again, almost actually looked his forty-three years, and Dick realized Bruce was very strained by this conversation. "I hadn't realized just how trying the transition from my main identity being Batman to Bruce Wayne would be. For a long time, Bruce was the charade, and retirement isn't coming very easily to me. It's why I left Gotham. Most of my life there was lived by Batman, and Bruce was a show I put on from time to time to keep up appearances. It's easier to start over here, to set Batman aside and actually _live_ as Bruce Wayne. Alfred's getting on in his years, Dick, and I needed to trust someone."

"What about me? Or why couldn't it have been Barbara?" he just couldn't wrap his mind around this.

Bruce was looking stern and calm again. "Because you and Barbara still have your other lives, your secret identities to maintain. Besides, Barbara is still attending college in Gotham, and it would appear very odd indeed for her to uproot herself suddenly, not to mention how dangerous it would be for Batman to retire and Bruce Wayne and Barbara Gordon change location and Batgirl suddenly start showing up there. And as you've gone to great lengths to acquire and I've finally agreed to, you have a life independent from mine."

"Well what about me? Won't it seem odd if I show up here and now? Won't someone start drawing conclusions?"

Bruce shook his head negative. "Fortunately, no one seems to have connected Robin with Nightwing, and Nightwing hasn't been active enough in Gotham to become indelibly associated with the city, which you've helped by appearing on occasion under this guise on your trip around the world. So far, you're a somewhat unknown new superhero not connected to any one place overmuch, and no one is quite sure of you yet. This city wouldn't be an entirely unlikely place for a new and rootless vigilante to set up shop, and it wouldn't appear too coincidental for Richard Grayson to also appear here, as this is the new location of your adopted father."

It was a hell of a lot of information, and Dick imagined he would be absorbing it for a few days to come. He sat in still, contemplative silence for a few moments, and Bruce allowed him to wrap his head around it, waiting patiently. "Just… just how much is Miss Roth aware of on my role in all of this?"

"So far as she is concerned, you are Richard Grayson, formerly a Flying Grayson and my adopted son and legal heir. I kept your and Barbara's identities withheld, as it isn't my right to disclose that information. As for what she knows of Barbara, the Gordons are old friends of the family, in which case it won't be construed as odd for Barbara to drop by for a visit."

"Well you've just thought of everything, haven't you." Bruce ignored his bitter comment, aware that Dick was overwhelmed, displeased and lashing out. Dick sighed wearily and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, fingers massaging circles over his temples. He'd known they'd have a lot to talk about, but this Miss Roth was way out of left field, and he wasn't sure just how to take it. For now, he would just deal, set it aside to analyze to pieces at a more convenient time. "Jesus H. Frog on a pogo stick…" Bruce quirked a brow at this, but remained silent. "Was this little jewel of knowledge your only ulterior motive for calling on me today?"

Dick did know him well. "It was an important issue I thought you should be aware of, but no, that isn't all." Dick slumped back in his armchair with a mutinous, jaded expression that seemed to say "Go ahead, hit me with your best shot; I'm prepared for the worst." Bruce hoped he'd be relieved that his other agenda wasn't nearly so world rocking.

"The other matter concerns your status as my heir." At Dick's perturbed expression, Bruce soothed, "No, I'm not writing you out of my will, disowning you, or any such thing. Something entirely different is what concerns me." Dick looked expectant, but not exactly relieved; wary rather, like he wasn't sure he was going to like what he was about to hear. Of course, Bruce wasn't sure he was going to like it either. "I know you're somewhat reluctant about fulfilling the role of my heir, and I don't want to force it on you. What I propose is something of a trial run. If you would be willing, I'd like to set you up as manager at one of my smaller company housing complexes. As well as that, just so you could get a feel for it and a firsthand perspective, I'd like it if you would shadow me through my daily work routine on occasion. That way, you can have a clear and settled idea on what you're deciding on and how you feel about it. I know it all seems rather daunting, and I'm hoping that this trial period might help dispel a little of the stigma you seem to see this as."

Dick sat in a thoughtful silence, considering Bruce's proposition. After a moment, he passed a hand over his face and looked at his one-time mentor with gravity, and nodded. "Alright, I'll agree to it—on a _trial_ basis. I'll suspend passing any final judgement until I've fully considered this whole thing from all angles. Until then, I don't see why not." He smirked ruefully, attempting to lighten the mood. "Besides, I'm getting really tired of living out of a hotel and hunting through the rent-ads."

Dick didn't know what Bruce might have said in response, but it was a foregone matter as a sharp, concise succession of knocks sounded at the door. After a moment's pause in which Bruce sat silently rearranging a stack of papers on his desk, Miss Roth let herself in, standing just inside the doorway with one hand on the jamb and the other occupied by a sleek black PDA.

She glanced only briefly at Dick, who called upon all his training not to look at her with a mixture of worry and mistrust, then riveted her level stare on Bruce, who looked at her from behind steepled fingers, calmly awaiting what she had to say. "Pardon if I'm interrupting, Mr. Wayne, but you asked me to notify you before we risked the chance of running late for your lunch appointment." He nodded, and she glanced down at her organizer, continuing, "Speaking of, Tachikoma-san and Nakatomi-san called fifteen minutes ago with their regrets and cancelled for said lunch date. Apparently, their flight was delayed this morning and they've only just arrived."

Bruce nodded, standing and gathering a briefcase from beneath the desk. "See if they would be willing to reschedule for tomorrow afternoon. Well, as that leaves us more or less free for lunch, I say you pick a nice restaurant and enjoy the reprieve." He glanced sidelong at Dick. "Care to join us?"

Dick kept his face carefully disinterested, though his mind brimmed with yet more questions. It was positively _odd_, seeing Bruce act so informally with Miss Roth. Just how far did this employee relationship go? Now _there_ was a dubious thought. Although, it wouldn't be too unusual—Bruce and Barbara had been lovers for a short time, after all—Dick didn't think Miss Roth was quite Bruce's type. The women he went with normally tended to be more offsetting to his darker, more serious side. Miss Roth and Bruce simply seemed to have too much in common to be romantically involved. Although, thinking of Miss Roth's frosty stare and sarcastic demeanor, he couldn't really think of her being romantically involved with anyone.

"Ah, thanks, but I think I'll skip out. If you could give me a key to this housing complex, I could have a look around, get an idea of what I'm taking on." He stood and smiled politely, shrugging and sticking his hands in his pockets.

Bruce nodded and snapped open the briefcase, withdrawing a long, plain envelope with slightly lumpy but indistinct contents. "There's a keyring inside, a map, directions, and your room number, as well as any other information you might need. Miss Roth will call you a cab and you can get checked out of your hotel room and be more or less moved in by the evening." Miss Roth immediately whipped out a cell phone and began punching a well-used number.

Blinking rapidly, Dick snorted and took the proffered envelope and tucked it into his suit jacket. "You do think of everything." He shook his head and responded in kind to Bruce's wry smirk. "And thanks, but my bike is parked out on the curb."

Snapping her cell phone shut—she'd already made the call? When had he blinked and managed to miss that?—Miss Roth locked her unrelenting Prussian blue eyes on him for more than three seconds for the first time since the outer office. "The cab will be meeting you at your hotel, where they will load and transport what baggage you have, and summarily unload once you've reached the address you give them, which should be enclosed in that envelope."

_Confusing, suspicious, rude, bitchy, cold-hearted… She's just a happy little ray of sunshine, isn't she._ "How will the cab service know which hotel to send a driver to? I haven't told you yet."

She stared at him a moment more, her expression unchanging, but he could feel the contempt rolling off her in waves. "I made a few inquiries."

Dick scoffed, looked at Bruce almost accusingly—Bruce quirked a brow, as if to say 'not my doing'—and smiled mockingly at the haughty personal assistant. "Well, Madame Detective, aren't you just ever so resourceful."

Miss Roth's dark lashes fluttered behind her glasses as if she badly wanted to roll her eyes and barely managed to restrain herself. Other than that, she made no reply, by which she informed Dick she thought him as witty and mature as a grade schooler.

Feeling distinctly one-upped, Dick nodded to Bruce, determined at least to exit with grace. "Well, I'll just leave you two to you lunch. Call you tomorrow, Bruce." Bruce nodded and the two watched him with unnervingly similar unwavering stares as he exited Bruce's inner sanctum. Making his way through the lobby and towards the elevator, Dick wondered, chagrined, just what he'd got himself into this time. _Damn you, Bruce, and your little personal assistant, too.__  
_

↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔

Employer and personal assistant sat across from each other at a charming two-seater wrought-iron table with ungodly uncomfortable matching chairs on the veranda of a streetside café, he with a black coffee untouched in his hands, she with an aromatic cup of chamomile tea in hers.

Bruce watched the young woman carefully as she pretended not to feel his eyes on her, carefully blowing on the steam from her tea and sipping slowly, savoring the flavor. His stare bored into her as she tucked an escapee heliotrope lock behind her ear, waiting, biding his time with all the patience in the world.

At last she glanced up at him, the faintest implication of annoyance tugging down at the corner of her mouth. She arched a dark brow as he continued to simply stare, his face as devoid of any expression or hint of thought or emotion as she normally maintained her own. "If you're waiting for me to crack under pressure, you've a long staring contest ahead of you."

He smirked, at last sipping his hot, bitter Colombian brew. "You not only acknowledged me, you spoke; I've already won."

She contemplated glaring at him; she so disdained his little power plays and games. But no, she wouldn't give him the satisfaction. "At least be gracious enough to inform me as to what you're waiting on so intensely."

"I'm waiting for you to spit out the questions whirring around in that head of yours."

She shrugged. "Alright, fine. I hadn't thought you'd be open to a questionnaire." She settled into her seat as if it were entirely cozy, as if the horrible, beautifully designed seat weren't imprinting its delicate pattern onto her ass. She paused a moment, sipping at her tea as she thought about how to word her many queries.

"To begin with, this Dick Grayson… How much does he know?"

Bruce almost smirked at the familiarity of this conversation. "He knows that you know about my retirement."

"And what does he know about me, personally? Did you reveal anything…delicate?"

"He's perfectly in the dark, and he'll remain there unless a number of things change drastically."

An almost imperceptible tightness in her shoulders eased, the only outward sign of her relief. "Good. I had worried for a moment just what you were planning. I'm perfectly aware how little you actually tell me, and I don't quite trust these schemes of yours, Bruce. Every move you make has a carefully planned ripple effect and every word out of your mouth is a double-edged blade with any number of obscure meanings."

She certainly learned quickly. Of course, he expected no less from her. It was something of a treat to watch her try to work through his vast, ambiguous web of plots and subplots with a cool, unrelenting logic and natural inquisitiveness. It was almost like training another pupil, but she had not come to him looking to be another of a set of myriad sidekicks and associates. Besides, he was retired. Still, it was often such a tempting thing, and he couldn't help but occasionally nudge her in the right direction or set her on a path he particularly wanted to see her unravel.

They sat sipping their respective beverages for a few pensively silent minutes, and Bruce could only guess what thoughts and questions arranged themselves in a complex pattern in his young personal assistant's mind.

At long last, she broke the silence with a change of subject. "So did he accept to shadowing you throughout the business day?"

"On occasion, yes. So that means you'll be seeing a good deal more of him in the days to come." Her lips twitched in a repressed sneer; it was sadistically amusing how abrasive their personalities were. He wondered how long it would last, and how soon they would discover that they had a great deal more in common after all. If nothing else, it ought to prove an entertaining experience. "You'll want to be even more cautious than usual unless you want to be explaining a rather awkward series of events to him."

She sipped at her tea calmly. "Of course. I'm always careful."

Bruce raised a brow and steepled his fingers. "Yes, but it may prove more difficult than you anticipate. After all, you're still adjusting to maintaining control without artificial regulation. I'm aware of your situation and am appropriately considerate of this; he cannot be made aware and won't be nearly so conscientious or obliging. And judging by the way the two of you seemed to endear yourselves to each other at the office, I would say you'll have your fair share of trials where Dick is concerned."

She snorted delicately, but kept her opinions of his surrogate son to herself, either not wishing to offend him or simply resisting the petty urge. "An understatement, I've no doubt. I'll be on my best behavior, Bruce, and take as many precautions to avoid mistakes as possible. Take no chances, suffer no consequences."

"A philosophy from your former mentors?"

She nodded affirmatively. "But one of many harsh truths one such as myself must accept and adapt to."

Bruce shook his head and changed the subject. "Did you reschedule with Nakatomi and Tachikoma?"

Tapping a few keys on the PDA beside her napkin, she glanced at the screen and replied, "We will be meeting them for brunch tomorrow at 11:30 in the Capital Lounge at the Hyperion Resort where they are staying."

"Brunch? Why the change in time and place?"

She looked at him cooly, attempting to gauge whether he was testing her again, or if he really hadn't already intuited the answer. "They are on foreign soil and insecure about it, and having no real territory of their own, they picked the closest thing they could get to a meeting ground more in their favor. Also, by our concession to allow them to choose the time and place, they are more at ease, but still unsure enough not to be so arrogant as to think they could have us cowed to their wishes. It will make negotiations run more smoothly, and it does no harm to our position."

Bruce smiled in that maddening, meaningless way that never said anything at all, and sipped his coffee. "My real question, you know, is how did _you_ know that? You haven't been in this business long enough to be able to so quickly and easily pick up on these things. Despite your—accurate, I'm sure—observations, in Japan, Nakatomi and Tachikoma are powerful businessmen with good sense enough not to so easily give such information away."

She sipped at her tea in a perfect mirror of his calm and self-assurance before replying in a dismissive, nonchalant way, "I learn quickly."

Bruce smiled again, tipping his mug at her indicatively. "You are that, but it's my reasoning that this isn't the whole of it. It happens to be my theory that your moderators, while not only assisting your control, served to have something of a dampening effect on your abilities. Thus as you've been doing without them for the past three weeks, forcing your control to become stronger, that your talents have heightened as well, some in ways subtle enough to have gone overlooked. I think you read Nakatomi and Tachikoma without even being in their presence, over the phone."

Her eyebrows raised, registering mild shock. "I hadn't even spoken with them directly, but with another assistant, though."

"Then it's more than I had thought; you read the impressions they made on this assistant, something you would normally need concentration and to be in a person's presence in order to do, simply by speaking with them."

The possibilities were astonishing and disturbing, and when she thought about it, his theories were also quite true. She had been reading everyone she'd come into contact with for a good few days without even noticing it. She even had an example of such an occasion by way of Dick Grayson. She had sensed his repressed insecurity and discomfiture by doing no more than exchanging a few words in the same room. And his myriad of tangled emotions had been flaring at her all throughout his secluded little chat with Bruce, proving an extremely annoying distraction as she transposed those notes into Czech. _What an unwieldy and ugly tongue. I'd had a tough enough time of it without his screaming mood swings. _

"Raven?"

She looked up at Bruce to see something alarmingly close to concern swimming up to the surface of those unfathomable arctic blue eyes. "This is… not good news. This is most distressing."

Bruce nodded gravely and leaned back in his chair, the damn thing far too tiny for a man of his build and the hard-edged back—which was equally as uncomfortable as the seat—stabbing him in the spine. "I had thought it might be."

Raven bit her lip thoughtfully, wondering how much sleep she might lose if she increased her meditation regimen by a few hours to combat this empathy leak.

As if sensing her train of thought—though she was quite aware of Bruce's lack of preternatural ability, it still often unnerved her how perceptive the man could be—Bruce leveled her with a stern, commanding stare that brooked no argument. "Take the rest of the day off. Meditate, relax, flex your abilities and work on controlling this. It's imperative that you get a handle on this before Dick begins testing your control and it becomes an issue. This is why you're here; this is merely an exercise in restraint."

Raven nodded with a bit of reluctance; she didn't like leaving her work at the office half-finished, but it was a matter of priorities, and this alarming new development took precedence over all else. "Shall I accompany you back to the office?"

"No, we'll get a separate cab for you here and I'll see you tomorrow in the morning."

"Well, I'm finished here, then. I'll call you if something noteworthy happens."

"Just take care of this, Raven. We'll need you fully functional at work in the next few weeks, and Dick isn't going to make it any easier for you."

She was a bit irritated with his constant reminders—it was a bit much like ordering her around for her and chafed a bit—but he spoke true and prudently, and she couldn't deny the sense in his warnings. Rising from her chair with a perfect imprint of the seat hidden under her skirt on the back of her thighs, Raven gathered her things and nodded a farewell. "Give my regards to Alfred."

Bruce nodded back and watched as she strode away and through the sidewalk crush, hailing a taxi with the wave of her arm. He waited until she disappeared into the flow of vehicular traffic, then sat slowly finishing his coffee, hoping that helping Raven would work out in the end. Because if she didn't meet her goals, Batman might not be able to stay retired for long.

↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔

**AN:** Well that's chapter one, and I don't hate it yet. I can't promise frequent or even consistent updating, and please don't ask about updates for Storm Warning; if I ever get the urge to write for that again, I'll have to seriously revise it first. It's more or less obsolete now. But I have been wanting to write something like this for a good while, so I should hopefully be able to keep up with it for the sheer enjoyment of writing it.

Now, there's much to explain, and I hope some of the questions you might have will be answered below.

And yes, I am aware that I avoided naming Raven for who she is for an absurd length of time; I was trying to milk the possibility of suspense over her identity for as long as I might. As if it weren't obvious whom she was from page two. +rolls her eyes+

If Bruce seems to be out of character, I'd like to remind you that in Batman: TAS, Bruce Wayne is a great deal more talkative and generally amiable than the Dark Knight. And as he's shut his alter ego back in the closet, I'm trying to keep him acting more like the semi-jovial, charismatic socialite he portrayed to the Gotham public. But I'm also trying to somewhat integrate his much more serious, dark side lived out by Batman in that he's laid aside his infamous bachelor-hood and in the way he can't keep from perpetuating mysteries and misunderstandings, thus his seemingly counterproductive dealings with Raven and Dick. If you think about it, Bruce would get all too easily bored in his current position without Batman to take the edge off, so to occupy and entertain himself, he plays something of a mastermind and takes his associates—i.e. Raven and Dick—and arranges them like pawns on a chessboard, though he seems to be playing against himself, or the myriad forces arrayed with and against them. I just can't envision him keeping his fingers out of all the intricate little plots and subplots that could be created by situations such as these.

Robin/Dick/Nightwing. This is a bit complicated. At this point, Dick has laid aside his identity as Robin and taken on the alter ego of Nightwing. Also, I'm mostly going off the Dick from The Animated Series (thus the long hair, tension with Bruce, etc.) but I'm also going to try and synthesize traits from the Robin of the Teen Titans series. This could get a bit confusing, so please forgive if parts seem out of character. Most likely it's a miscommunication between Robin and Nightwing. Special Note! I warn you ahead of time, if there are chapters in which Dick seems unwarrantedly flirtatious or too much like a ladies' man, that's another thing from TAS. In that series, Dick is more like Bruce than Batman in general, as in popular with women and not at all averse to charming and flattering them, and just generally more social. I'm not just trying to throw some unfounded romance into the thing, I promise.

Others of the Titans cast _will_ be making appearances, I assure you, including villains and B-List characters, though I can't say how big a role they'll fill. I'll try at least to include members of the core team in large part, and I don't think it will be terribly difficult. I don't know what, if anything, I'll do with Terra. I'm still debating on that. (By the way, I'd like to pose a question: is Red X an invention entirely of the new series' writers, or was he in the original comic's series? If anyone can tell me, I'd be greatly appreciative. Also, if anyone can direct me to a website with information on characters—real names, background info—other than just the core group, I'd be very grateful.)

For the hopefuls, I'm sorry, but I really don't think I'll be using Tim Drake in this story. I considered it, but he just didn't seem to fit. With Batman retired and Nightwing center stage, it would seem a little too awkward to have Robin v.2 running about. I like the kid and he's an interesting character, but I just couldn't write him in without it being forced and messing up a lot of things.

As for what's up with Bruce's retirement, how the Justice League ties into all this, and just how Raven ended up working with Bruce in the first place… to find out, keep reading. I'm an evil, tricky little wench, I know. +grins+

Wow, that was one hell of a long author's note… Fear not, I don't intend to make it a trend. The author's notes will only be especially long if there are other subjects that need to be properly addressed outside of the storytelling. Hope ya liked, and I hope ya review. There, I plugged.


	2. Episode 02: A Comedy of Errors

**  
**

**Summary:** AU, although it's oddly kind of a mix of Batman: TAS/TNA, JLU, and Teen Titans (CN) + maybe a little from the original Teen Titans. However, still vastly different, really. I'm not certain how far the superhero gig will play into this bit quite yet. I'm making it up as I go, but it should be a fun ride.

**Rating:** PG13?—R? R for elbow room.

**Disclaimer:** I'm middle-class "white bread" and broke.

↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔

↔**_Episode: 02_**↔  
_**A Comedy of Errors**_

↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔

Dick rubbed the back of his sore neck and groaned. Sighing resignedly, he set his back against a tall, black steel entertainment center and heaved, sliding it the last few inches across the hardwood floor and against the wall with a grunt.

Standing back to survey his work, he nodded his approval and glanced around the rest of the apartment. When he'd first walked into the place, he'd gotten the impression that the same interior decorator who'd arranged Bruce's lobby had attacked the company housing complex as well, given the chi-friendly organization of the furniture. He'd immediately set to rearranging everything.

That had been… he glanced at his watch. Four hours ago. Damn. No wonder he was starved. He glanced at the kitchen, remembered all the food he currently had in stock were little packages of chicken flavored Maruchan® Instant Ramen, and resolved to phone for pizza.

"Shit!" Tripping over one of three duffel bags lying in the middle of the floor and stubbing his toe on an end table, Dick growled and shoved a hand through his hair. Correction: he'd call for pizza _after_ he'd unpacked his clothes.

Snatching up the bulging nylon bags, he trudged into the study turned master bedroom and heaved them all onto the king-sized bare mattress. He unzipped the first and began pulling out wads of woefully wrinkled and creased shirts and slacks, setting them aside and making a note to iron them eventually, preferably before needing to wear them.

Unzipping the second was like peeling the lid off a mysterious container from the back of your fridge. The stench hit him hard and fast and full in the face, making him jerk back from the bedside with a stumble, exclaiming and waving a hand rapidly in useless attempt to dissipate the noxious vapor.

"Holy unwashed sweatsocks, Batman!" Jerking his T-shirt collar up over nose and mouth as a filter, Dick snatched up the offensive tote and hurled it with a quick flick of the wrist back out into the living room. Making another mental note to pick up several bottles of Febreese at a corner store, he spritzed a cloud of cologne into the air and opened the French doors onto the balcony to help air the room out.

Dick hadn't allowed his laundry to get quite so fragrant since college and was quite frankly disgusted. "That's just _sick_. I don't think I could eat a damn thing with those things basting in their own juices any longer."

Determined now to deal with the foul duffel bag before doing anything else, Dick held his breath, zipped the bag firmly shut again, and exited the apartment with it held out at arm's length. He was quite glad he'd had the sense to familiarize himself with the building layout earlier, and found himself all but jogging to reach the laundry room and take care of his reeking parcel at once.

Striding on habitually silent feet into the large laundry room—a private laundromat, more like—Dick stopped short at the sight of a petite female with unique violet hair standing with her back to the door at one of the washers, heaving in a load of darks from a white plastic basket.

The girl paused, tilting her head to one side inquisitively and murmuring in an irritatingly familiar monotone, "Why do I smell goat cheese."

"Oh… shit. In a hole. On a stick." _Damn you, Bruce_.

Spine stiffening and shoulders straightening, she turned with the sort of slowness usually reserved for nightmares, with a look of dread and near horror on her face. It was, of course, Miss Roth.

Behind her, the paint on the wall started cracking inconspicuously.

"It's you. Of course. Because that just puts a cherry on this lovely damn day." She forced her face blank and unreadable, but she still looked rather different, standing there in a pair of black sweats and an oversized purple dress shirt, her hair down about her shoulders and mussed as if she'd been running her hands through it. But the expression, the voice, and the not-quite-there sneer on her mouth determined that yes, she really was standing there, looking for all the world as if she ought to.

Which meant, of course, that she was living here. Under the very same roof as him. Here being the company housing complex newly under his management. Which meant even more interaction than shadowing Bruce threatened.

They stood there for a moment in tense silence for a moment, he still absorbing the fact of her presence, and she seeming to be slowly gripping that he was standing there dressed just as comfortably as she was, barefoot and behaving as if he had every right to be there. Which apparently he did.

Dick snapped to attention with a frown, saying snarkily, "Shouldn't you be reorganizing Bruce's file cabinet or something?" He strode purposefully over to a washer at the opposite side of the room, determined to show her he wouldn't be intimidated while simultaneously keeping his distance from the snappish harpy. After all, she might bite.

She turned from him and decidedly began measuring out liquid detergent. She would prove she was just as stubborn as he was and then some, and besides, she'd been here first. So long as he kept his distance. "I was given the rest of the day off, not that it's any of your business."

He thought to make a snappy comeback about illness or something, but she cut him off by slamming the washer lid and stalking out of the room, basket on her hip, without so much as a backward glance.

"I knew it," he grumbled, dumping socks and other malodorous articles into the washer. "I knew he'd be pissed, and this is how he intends to punish me. Death by shrew."

↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔

Raven walked in tightly controlled strides back into her apartment, shielding harder than she had in her life. All of five minutes in that exasperating man's presence and he'd nearly managed to unwittingly undo three hours' worth of meditated control.

This was not good. This was beyond not good, this had the potential to be downright disastrous. This was _exceptionally_ bad. She quietly seethed, repressing visions of vengeance and the urge to kick things and scream. This was _awful_.

Richard Grayson's daily presence here was disruptive, unwanted, and highly volatile. He was new and secretive and brooding and filled to bursting with a million thoughts and emotions that battered at Raven's defenses. She didn't like him. He was rude, annoying, and seemed to think he was charming and funny, Azar pity the poor fool.

But if she'd at least had a tiny bit of warning, she at least could have been better prepared to endure him. However, she had not been told. She'd been allowed to walk blindly into a potentially catastrophic situation, and it really, really pissed her off.

The upside was that she knew just exactly whom to blame.

↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔

Bruce sat in his tasteful study in his stately new residence, still adjusting to the modernized atmosphere and the near ungodly amount of late afternoon sunshine pouring into what should have been a gloomy, somber den of brooding.

He focused doggedly on the day's business reports, scanning an account of the current and predicted state of Wayne Enterprises stocks and investments. It was not really his job to be monitoring these and many other reports in his pile, for he had departments dedicated to all these matters, but he liked to be well informed and apprised of all activities.

A concise knock sounded at the door and Alfred entered the room, every inch the upright, prim and proper British gentleman, though Bruce noted with some caution the twinkle of amusement in the dear man's gaze. He stopped beside Bruce's desk and proffered a silver tray with the slim black cordless receiver on it. He said not a word as to the caller's identity, but Bruce trusted Alfred Pennyworth like no other.

Setting the stock reports aside, Bruce quirked a curious brow and brought the phone to his ear. "Yes."

There was a momentary, tense pause, in which Bruce could detect the sound of a scoffing snort. Then a familiar voice as smooth and cultivated as his own, though obviously feminine, calmly stated, "You are an unconscionable bastard."

A softly amused smirk curved Bruce's mouth as the line disconnected, and he gently replaced the silent receiver back on the tray.

"Something amiss, Master Bruce?" The butler was a spectacular actor. He was laughing at his once-charge with his eyes. "Miss Roth sounded quite unhappy about something."

Bruce placed the stock reports in a second stack and reached for the newly hired list, the hint of a smile still lingering on his lips. "Not at all, Alfred. Everything's going exactly as planned, although perhaps a bit ahead of schedule."

"Very good, Master Bruce. Dinner will be served at seven."

↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔

Raven slid into the back seat of the solemn black car, smoothing her smart gray business skirt and crossing her legs primly. Her face was utterly unreadable, her eyes behind her glasses fixed firmly and prosaically somewhere on Bruce's right cheek. She made no greeting or offerings of small talk, nor did she bring up any business. The car pulled away from the curb of Housing Complex T-13 smoothly and silently, rejoining the morning flow of traffic without incident.

"Good morning, Miss Roth. A pleasure to see you again, as usual," Alfred said from the driver's seat, polite, proper, and with sincerity.

"Good morning, Alfred. A pleasure to see you again as well." Raven was just as polite and reserved, her voice inflectionless save for perhaps only the most imperceptible underlinings of warmth for the elderly butler. However disgruntled she may currently be with her employer, Raven was genuinely fond of the older British gentleman, and would not disdain him kindness for Bruce's egoism.

Silence held uncomfortably for a few moments more, until at last Bruce captured Raven's cool gaze with his own. "As much as I'm sure you'd enjoy holding this grudge some time longer, I'm afraid that won't be acceptable. Have you managed to gain control?"

Raven gave him the barest of smiles; it was not at all a friendly thing. "Having increased my meditation to nine hours and reduced my time sleeping to four, I've gained a measure of control, yes, with no thanks to your efforts."

Bruce would let that one slide; he supposed he did deserve it, when one looked at it from her more limited point of view. However, many more of these comments and there would be repercussions. "Good, then. I still expect you fully functional for the brunch conference with Nakatomi and Tachikoma." Her jaw squared, and he raised one brow fractionally, sending the message that her irritation was duly noted and summarily dismissed. "Raven, your aggravation is expected and justified, but you'll have to get past it and accept it. I hadn't expected for you and Dick to bump into each other so soon, but I hadn't planned on telling you, either. The best way for you to actively improve is to learn to adapt your control quickly in extreme and unpredictable situations. If you're going to exist in any sort of everyday life, this is a necessity.

"You've been allowed to keep very much to yourself and private for the most part, but that will have to change. As my personal assistant, and as Raven Cassandra Roth**†**, private citizen and ordinary person, you won't be able to isolate yourself forever. Think of Dick as training wheels. You can get used to the various interruptions and annoyances of reality via him, all in the relative privacy and safety of the office and the complex. If worse comes to worst, and you do lose control in front of him, at least it wouldn't be quite as… awkward as it might have been with some other ordinary citizen. Dick, as my adopted son, has had a bit of experience with the strange and unusual to prepare him."

"And I am certainly 'strange and unusual'," remarked Raven flippantly.

"Not to mince words, yes, you are. Try not to resent it so much." A cold, acid stare was his reward.

He said nothing, and she took in a deep, calming breath through her nose, smoothing her hands needlessly over her skirt, a very human nervous gesture. His job was not to coddle Raven and rebuild her rather fatalistic self-image; that was up to her. No, his sole task was to keep her all too aware of her exceptional heritage and to assist her in controlling the dangerous nature and terrible power that came inherent with it. And if that required him to be harsh at times, he would not downplay matters for the sake of her feelings. It all came back to helping her reinforce her control.

"So how did it go?"

"Well, I slipped up for about half a millisecond when he surprised me in the laundry room, but as nothing took on vengeful life, collapsed, exploded, or set off sirens, I think it went relatively well, minus the exchange of verbal abuse. As well as one might expect, at any rate."

"Then you're already improving. The success rate insofar seems a positive one."

Stony silence.

Alfred pulled to a smooth stop at the curb in the employee parking garage of Wayne Enterprises and, exchanging brief farewells with the elder man, CEO and PA stepped out onto the sidewalk and summoned the elevator as the Rolls Royce rolled away.

While they waited, the growl of an engine preceded the entrance of a sleek black and red motorcycle, bearing a helmeted young man.

Raven feigned displeasure at the machine's noisy entrance, but watched as the motorcycle pulled into one of the free spaces designated for the slim vehicles, aesthetically appreciating both the bike and its rider. The motorcycle was obviously cherished, the chrome and paint polished to a high gloss and the engine's rumble clean and pure, obviously tended to lovingly. And whoever he was, the cyclist kept himself in good shape as well, and wasn't a particularly shabby dresser, either. Not at all hard on the eyes.

While she watched with an affected sneer, the rider pulled off his concealing helmet, letting spill a mane of night-dark hair that settled about a pair of strong, leather clad shoulders; hair a girl's hands would itch to tangle themselves in. A long-fingered hand ran through that glorious hair, smoothing it out and brushing it back from his face. And his face…

Shock registered in the widening of Raven's eyes and she immediately snapped her attention back to the fore, her cheeks warming and horror bubbling up in her chest like sick laughter as her most recent annoyance dismounted the well-oiled machine. Lips locked tight on the stillborn sound, she caught Bruce watching her in her peripheral vision, the hint of that damned infernal smirk curling the corner of his mouth. He had seen her watching and knew she hadn't been trying to bore holes in the motorcyclist with an aggravated stare.

The elevator hailed them with its soft chime and the reflective metal doors slid open, and Raven almost believed in miracles. She stepped quickly into the lift, Bruce just behind her, and pressed the button labeled **_54_** and exhaled inaudibly, centering and calming herself as the doors began to slide promptly closed again.

A strong, long-fingered hand reached out just in time and halted the closing doors, stepping inside as the damned things slid obligingly open again, and Raven ran through a mental list of nasty invective and imprecation she knew in various languages.

"Trying to leave me behind, old man?"

"Glad you could join us, Dick."

There was no such affable greeting exchanged between Dick and Raven; just a crackling glance, and silence that spoke volumes of mutual dislike and hostility. The two stared at their own reflections in the elevator doors for the duration of the ten-minute long, tensely quiet ride, Bruce between them giving off airs of amusement.

When at last the lift admitted them to the 54th floor, they strode towards the back offices in silence, each on either side of the older man.

The trio entered the inner receptionary, Raven's office, more or less, and stopped inside as the young woman halted so abruptly she stumbled slightly, the toe of her black heels catching the carpet pile. She stared uncomprehendingly for a moment, while Dick did the same, until at last she became convinced she wasn't seeing a horrible nightmare vision, but that the offensive image was indeed real.

Jaw clenching tightly, she rounded on Bruce, tension framing her posture and tightening the corners of her eyes. "Tell me this is some kind of joke."

Bruce's expression was cool and unassuming, but she could see it in his eyes—he was having great fun, at her expense. "Why would this be a joke, Miss Roth? You were well aware Dick had accepted my proposal to work more closely with me in the company."

While their verbal sparring and her occasional defiances were allowed in private, in the office they were employer and employee, and she was to defer him with all due respect and formality, as one in her position ought. With a quelling glance, he reminded her of this, and she reigned in her temper.

"You never deigned to inform me we would be sharing office space, Mr. Wayne."

"Is that a problem, Miss Roth?" There was a challenge in the ex-Dark Knight's eyes; he was testing her again, and she would be damned if she failed to clear this little hurtle.

Gaze flicking lingeringly to the shiny new desk placed opposite hers, she returned her gaze to her employer. "…Of course not, Mr. Wayne. I just wish you would have given me more notice. However, there will be no problem accommodating for this… unexpected development, I assure you."

He smiled in that maddeningly banal manner. "I had hoped not."

↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔

Dick hadn't a clue as to what the hell that little exchange had been all about—surely she hadn't gotten her garters all in a twist simply because they didn't get along?—but he wasn't entirely pleased about this new situation himself. "Bruce, are you sure that's really necessary? I don't see why I should need a desk at all, and certainly not out here. After all, aren't I supposed to be shadowing you, watching and taking note of what you do and how your job is done? Maybe my perception's skewed, but somehow I don't think my occupying Miss Roth's space would be particularly productive to that end."

Bruce turned his smile on Dick. "On the contrary. Miss Roth is involved in much of my job, and for the start, at least, seeing the aspects of everyday activities that she handles and coordinates will be a perfect introduction. I think the two of you will be working fairly closely for a month or so, and in no time you'll be ready for me to take you through the more complex matters."

Dick glanced at Miss Roth, who, for just an instant, looked positively murderous, as if she envisioned nothing less than wrapping her small hands round Bruce's throat and throttling him soundly. Then he blinked and she was merely a bit unruffled. And that was when he decided she was positively frightening.

"Are there any objections to this arrangement?"

Miss Roth answered by stepping behind her own desk, booting up the computer terminal, and opening her attaché case to rifle through a sheaf of documents. Bruce had taught Dick long ago to choose his battles wisely, and this wasn't one he was particularly likely to win, and the headache that would come from clashing horns with his surrogate father wasn't worth the fight.

Bruce smiled again at Dick. "Good."

↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔

Raven glanced at the corner of her monitor screen at the computer clock, sighing faintly as the digital timekeeper counted another agonizingly slow minute. Nine-thirteen. Time flew about as quickly as a winged whale, in Raven's impatient opinion.

She had been doing busy work for the past three hours, as was her early morning custom, in silence, with which she was happily acquainted, but it was all ruined by the mere presence of a brooding young man slouching in his leather chair directly across from her. He'd been sullen and sulking since Bruce had retreated into his personal office, and was obviously as displeased with the notion of sharing personal space with her as she was. He sat rifling through empty drawers, arranging office supplies, and playing solitaire, looking about as enthused as a tiger in a zoo cage.

They had not spoken or interacted, for which Raven was highly grateful, but his very presence put her on edge. _You're going to have to get used to this; you don't have a choice. This is just another obstacle to get through. I can do this. He's just an annoying man, I've handled worse._

She glanced up as Dick picked up a No.2 pencil and began scribbling aimlessly on a sheet of printer paper, then returned her gaze to the monitor, fingers resuming their dutiful typing.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

Her fingers faltered on the keys for a moment, and she misspelled the word "convenience". Hitting backspace to return the second "e" to its proper place, she zeroed her attention in on the letters as they disappeared behind the blinking black cursor.

_Tap, tap, tap, tap. Taptaptaptaptaptaptaptap._

Choking back a frustrated snarl, Raven's head whipped around snakelike and she affixed an intensely gimlet glare on Dick. "Would you _stop_ that damned _tapping_."

"Hm?" Dick glanced up at her, brows raised, seemed to realize just then that his fingers were seesawing the pencil back and forth on the desktop rapidly, and placed his palm flat over the writing utensil. "Oh. Sorry."

She exhaled through her nose, attempting to regain calm as she resumed her work and he began to once again rummage through the desk drawers.

_Click. Click. Click._

Oh, merciful Azar, he'd gotten hold of a pen.

_Click, click, click. Clickclickclickclickclickclick._

"If you keep that up I'm going to shove that pen so far up your ass you'll piss ink for a week." She growled the threat with every intention of making good on it if he persisted in being so bugger-all _annoying_.

He scowled at her, but stopped. "What's your problem, not get enough beauty sleep, princess?"

She snorted delicately. _What an understatement. And it's _your_ fault, damned bastard._

"Well excuse the hell out of me," he grumbled, engulfing the small black mouse in his hand and pulling up an Internet browser.

Raven glanced at the clock. Nine-twenty-nine. Half an hour more, and she could get a much-needed reprieve from the unbearable oaf.

Said oaf began typing away noisily on the keyboard, making such a cacophony as to seem to be trying to violently coerce the words onto the screen.

Of course, Raven just might go mad and shred him into bloody little bits in the interim. At this point, odds could tip either way.

At that moment, like a dark savior, Bruce opened his office door and looked to Raven, a file folder in his hand. "Miss Roth, I need you to go to the back-records room and find me the two files preceding and following this one."

Raven wanted to jump up and plant a kiss on his cheek, she felt such gratitude. However, being naturally reticent and due to propriety if nothing else, she merely nodded affirmatively and rose, smoothing her skirt over her backside and moving to take the file from him. "Anything else, while I'm out?"

"A cup of coffee, if it isn't too much trouble."

"Not at all, Mr. Wayne. I'll return shortly." She all but snatched the folder and ran out the door.

↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔

About fifteen minutes later, Dick sat checking his email when Bruce made a reappearance, his expression slightly bemused. He glanced around the office, hesitated at Raven's unoccupied desk, then swung his gaze back to Dick, who deleted his load of junk mail and raised an inquiring brow at the older man.

"Miss Roth should have been back by now. Go find her."

"Do what?" Dick straightened in his chair, turning his full gaze on Bruce. Was he serious? Bruce was sending _him_ after his disagreeable personal assistant? "How would I find her? I don't even know my way around yet."

"No time like the present to learn. Besides, you're resourceful. She should only be on the 36th floor in one of the back-records rooms." He raised his brows demandingly, expression setting in a way that brooked no argument. "Or are you doing something more important?"

Dick sighed, resisted the urge to grumble, and rose from his seat. "I'm going. Send a search party if I'm gone longer than fifteen minutes. She may decide to kill me on sight."

Bruce made no reply to that remark, simply retreated back into his office. The two of them had better be back before another fifteen minutes; they would have to leave very soon in order to make their brunch appointment.

Dick stepped out of the elevator onto the 36th floor and found himself in a long hallway, with many off-branching corridors and assorted doors. Raising a brow skeptically, he strolled onward, hoping to bump into her quickly and get it over with, or at least to find someone who could direct him to where the shrew might be.

"Hey, can I help you?"

Ah, a ray of light in a dark day. At least something was finally going his way.

Dick turned with a primed charming smile, finding a lanky young man in plain slacks and a coffee-stained white dress shirt, the first few buttons undone, leaning in one of the doorways that had been closed as he'd passed it a moment ago. In his hand he had a chipped black mug with a cartoonish green kitten on it, presumably the origin of the faded brown stain on his shirtfront.

He had bright beryl eyes and hair that was a funny kind of dun-moss color, with a greenish-brown olive complexion. However, he had a ready grin and a mischievous twinkle in his eye that made him immediately likable.

"Actually, yeah. I'm looking for someone. I don't suppose you'd know Miss Roth?"

The guy chuckled ruefully and rolled his eyes, indicating he did indeed know whom Miss Roth was, and had also encountered her attitude in all its magnitude. "Her. Yeah, you could say that. Why, you lookin' for her?"

"Playing fetchboy for big bad Mr. Wayne. Wondering where his dear PA has disappeared to. I get the slaphappy task of finding her and bringing her back."

The other man shook his head pityingly. "Ooh, man, I don't envy ya." His amiable grin took on the hint of a leer, and he waggled his brows at Dick. "Roth's got a killer body, but there's no ass on earth worth putting up with _that_ kind of abuse. But yeah, she's here."

Dick smirked, and held out his hand. "Thanks. Dick Grayson."

"Nice to meetcha, Dick. Garfield Logan. Call me Gar."

The two shook, smiling at each other, and Dick thought that if he could get along with the others around this place as well, he might be able to suffer Miss Roth's antipathy and survive after all.

Gar had a considering look on his face and was tapping his fingernail against the porcelain mug, apparently mulling over some notion caught in his head. Suddenly, his face brightened in an "aha!" expression, and he jabbed a finger towards Dick. "I knew I recognized your name! You're Wayne's, like, son or something!" He looked at Dick with something bordering on awe. "Dude, I can't believe you survived growing up with _Wayne_."

Dick grinned. "Well, it wasn't the easiest experience in my life. But he took me in when I fell on some pretty rough times, and as much as I might think he's a stubborn asshole sometimes, I don't think I'd trade him."

Gar chuckled. "Yeah, I bet not. And lose out on being heir to a fortune like that?" He shook his head, then nodded indicatively down the hall. "Anyways, Roth's down that way, third hall to the right, second door on the left. If she's not there, somebody else probably will be who'll know where she got off to. The shelves and file cabinets are kinda maze-y, but she should be in there somewhere. Try not to get murdered."

Dick chuckled, stuck his hands in his pockets and nodded. "Thanks. It was nice meeting you, Gar."

Gar nodded and turned to go back into his office. "See ya 'round, Dick."

Dick headed off as directed in somewhat better spirits. It was too bad he had ended up lumped with Roth rather than somebody friendlier and somewhat less psychotic, like Gar. He just hoped he could locate her quickly and get her back to Bruce's office without incident. The odds weren't in his favor, considering how well they got along, but he wasn't ready out give out on hope yet.

Stopping at the second door to the left of the third hallway to the right, Dick pushed through the ajar door and entered the dim-lit back-records room, the familiar and not unpleasant odor of old paper and must greeting him. He immediately discovered what Gar had meant when he had said the room was maze-like, and his eyebrows raised at the crazy setup of shelves and file cabinets arranged all at odd angles to each other, most of them with just enough space between them to navigate through.

The room was quiet in a peaceful sort of way, only the hush of the air conditioner. If there was someone in there, they weren't making very much noise to indicate their presence.

Dick began to maneuver his way through the stacks, listening for some sound and hoping he didn't get turned around and lost in here. He didn't like mazes for a good reason**†**, and this place was damn near a labyrinth.

Passing another squeeze-way, Dick halted as he heard a slight _creak_, followed by a rustling of papers. Turning back, he slid sideways through the gap and followed the narrow route, fingers trailing along the cold metal of the tall file cabinet to his right. Going straight headed to a dead end, so he turned a corner, stopping short and finding himself face-to-rung with a prop-ladder.

Looking up, his eyebrows rose as his line of sight traveled up a pair of long, shapely legs and up a short skirt of indeterminate coloring, giving him a direct view of the black silk panties whoever-she-was was wearing.

_Hel-lo, there._

He must have made some appreciative noise without his conscious knowledge, because the mystery woman gave a sudden yelp, starting violently on her precarious perch, sending her scrambling to grasp the side of the ladder. Unfortunately, her efforts to stabilize the structure proved counterproductive and the ladder banged off the shelf it had leaned upon, and her smart black heels slipped from the rung.

Reacting on reflex and instinct alone, Dick reached out and grabbed the ladder, pitting his weight against its momentum and attempting to stabilize it enough to set it back against the shelf.

Unfortunately, the mysterious miss chose that moment to fall completely off the ladder with a screech, crashing straight down—and right on top of Dick.

They went to the ground in a confused tangle of arms and legs, Dick instinctually placing himself to take the brunt of her weight and ending up banging his shoulders against the file cabinet behind him, sliding down beneath the female's weight until he lay on his back on the carpet. The ladder clattered noisily to the ground a few feet from bashing their brains in, and they simply lay there for a moment, braced for the shelf to fall or further disaster.

As the dust literally settled and a few loose papers drifted lazily to the floor around them, Dick and his unknown damsel in distress collected their breaths and shoved their hearts from their throats back down into their chests.

"Are you alright, Miss…?" And then Dick shoved his hair out of his eyes and looked into the face of the young woman he'd rescued.

Miss Roth glared directly into his eyes, her glasses askew on her face and stray plum-colored tendrils escaping from her meticulous bun. "Of course. You. You seem to be the source of _all_ my misfortunes of late." Her voice was dead calm, which was not at all a reassuring thing. She seemed to be using all her restraint not to wrap her little hands around his throat and strangle him.

"Excuse me," he retorted, "but I do believe I just saved your ass from a pretty nasty spill!"

Her mouth flattened into a thin line, then pursed, and her brow twitched before she growled out, "Which wouldn't have _needed_ saving, thanks so, if you hadn't snuck up on me like some damn ninja. Are you this disastrous to everyone you meet, or should I be feeling special?"

"Oh, you're quite special, alright, but several years of therapy and strong sedatives should be able to help with that," he sniped in return.

She pushed herself into an upright position, shoving quite harder at his chest than was really necessary—and then they both took notice that she was practically in his lap, knees to either side of his waist and her skirt bunched up much higher around her thighs. Both flushed and glared in different directions as she clambered quickly and unsteadily to her feet.

He stood fluidly, running his hands through his hair, flustered as she jerked at her clothes to straighten them, located the shoe she had lost in her tumble from the ladder, and smoothed her hair into a semblance of its former punctilious perfection.

"Hey, what's going on in here? Oh my god, you didn't actually _kill_ him, Rae?"

Gar abruptly appeared around the corner with an apprehensive expression, his longish hair wild as if he had come running pell-mell down the hall at the sound of their accident.

_Rae? What kind of name is that? And how does he know it?_

Dick threw a glance askance at Miss Roth, who paid him no heed in order to glare most caustically at Gar.

"Logan, how many times have I told you to straighten out these damned shelves? It's a wonder we've never stumbled across the skeleton of some poor bastard who got lost in this ridiculous funhouse of yours." Her voice was positively icy, making it clear she felt no warm fuzzies for the friendly young man.

He glanced at Dick and gave him the once over, as if to assess that all body parts were intact and fully functioning, then took note of the toppled ladder behind them. "Jesus, are you trying to destroy my careful order? If I rearranged everything the way _you_ wanted it, I'd never find _anything_ in here."

"The way things are now, you're the only one who _can_ find anything in this mess," she scoffed.

Dick got the feeling that this exchange was a fairly normal conversation between the two of them, and more a custom than something borne of any real bad feeling between them.

Gar shrugged dismissively. "Whatever. Just try not to knock over any file cabinets when you molest people, okay? Really, this isn't the stacks of some high school library, y'know."

Her glare was downright murderous, and Dick took an involuntary step back, thinking she might pick up the ladder and swing it like a baseball bat against the side of Gar's head. However, she demonstrated remarkable restraint and merely sneered with heartfelt contempt at the green-eyed records-keeper. "Please refrain from including me in your frustrated sick little fantasies, Logan, or I'll be tempted to lace your coffee with arsenic."

Gar merely snickered, apparently accustomed to such threats.

Dick broke in at last into this odd exchange, saying, "Anyways, Miss Roth, Bruce sent me down here to get you. He seemed pretty impatient for those files."

Miss Roth's eyes widened slightly and she shoved back her sleeve, peering at a dainty watch adorning her slim wrist. "Damn," she murmured, "I'm running late." She strode briskly past Gar, who scooted slightly aside to avoid any accidental contact. She halted just at the corner, glanced back at Dick, and raised her brows in a demanding "come hither" fashion that wasn't even remotely flattering or sensual.

Shaking his head and receiving a sympathetic grin from Gar, Dick did as he was bid and followed after her, suddenly seeing the rest of the day stretching before him in a slow succession of long, torturous hours.

_This just keeps getting better and better. I really hope this isn't how Bruce intends to convince me to take him up on his offer. I'd strangle myself with my own tie if I had Miss Roth as a personal assistant._

A dark look to him over her shoulder suggested Miss Roth felt very much the same.

Dick sighed. It was going to be a very, very long day.

↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔

**AN:** Well, this one kind of got away from me on length. If I'd gone on any longer than this, which I could have and wanted to, it would have ended up being several pages longer, and as a second chapter, I'd like to keep it fairly along the same lines as the length of chapter one. And I'm afraid this chapter ended up being mostly filler, despite my intentions to start furthering the plot. Ah, well. At least it moved a little bit, and there was a fair smattering of humor. Plus, I did introduce another of the Titans, as promised. I don't really think I could write a long-haul Teen Titans fanfic without Beastboy—Changeling, by this point. Though, granted, he will be somewhat different. I did warn you all there would be some things that seemed OOC. But really, he's not. I'm having to write him considerably older, and I do indeed hope he'd mature somewhat over that many years. Anyways, I do hope next chapter will be more productive, and I hope you all are satisfied with the length of it. Hope it makes up for the ridiculously long wait I've put you all through. Unfortunately, graduation's just on the horizon, and Prom, and a number of other ridiculous quirks and demands of reality I'm afraid I must interrupt my writing fairly often to attend to.

Once again, there's much to address in this chapter. Sit tight, and I apologize if this irritates you. I'm just trying to help clarify some issues. Suspense is good; leaving readers utterly and completely confused as to whether they're on their head or their ass is not.

I'll begin with Beastboy/Gar Logan/Changeling. Obviously, as I already stated, he's older now, about 20, and somewhat mellowed. Also, he's grown out of "Beastboy" and moved on as "Changeling". Also, someone addressed the question in a review as to how I was going to handle Gar's… unique coloring. It's been hinted at what I've done, somewhat, and will be clarified properly at some point in the future, but I can say it's nothing like the image inducer used in X-Men: Evo. I try to be a bit more original, plus I'm a bit wary about borrowing from unrelated shows like that. And as for the issue of Gar's employ at Wayne Enterprises… +grins wickedly+ that's another point I'll wait to divulge until a later date. Or maybe I'll just let you guys figure it out on your own.

Raven Cassandra Roth**†**. Something of a bad joke, really. When Bruce set Raven up with a fabricated U.S. civilian identity, including all the necessities—transcripts, background, birth certificate, etc.—he designated her a middle name to more normalize her. In a turn of irony, he chose "Cassandra", taking from the Greek mythological woman who was fated by Apollo to always prophesy accurately, but never to be believed. I'm sure he thought it rather humorous at the time. I think it's fairly appropriate.

"He didn't like mazes for a good reason**†**…" Referring to a couple of instances I recalled off the top of my head from TAS. I remember an episode involving the Mad Hatter and a hedge maze, though I can't be absolutely certain Dick played a role in it. My memory's a bit faulty; it's been years since I've seen the series, after all. Another episode is one that I'm fairly sure included Dick and entailed a labyrinth with a big floating hand, a mechanical Minotaur and either Two-Face or the Riddler. I don't recall that either instance went particularly swimmingly.

And hey, try not to freak out about the sexual humor/attraction-generated comedy I employ between Raven and Dick. I _am_ a Rae/Rob shipper, and whether I use the pairing herein or not, I'll be damned if I don't at least play with it.

There will be no Gar/Raven action. There will be no Dick/Starfire action. Well, at least don't think so. So anyways, don't bother entreating me for either of those pairings. I will slap my hands over my eyes and scream, "LALALA, I can't see you!"

Also, I want to apologize ahead of time for any glaring blunders or mistakes I make involving the business angle of this story. I've not a damn clue as to the operations of a corporation beyond a few very basic things I've picked up randomly, so I'm more or less flying by the seat of my pants on this, folks. So if it looks like I've just pulled something completely out of my ass, it's probably because I have. I hope you can overlook this, and bear with me.

Reviews. Oh my god, the reviews. I love you guys, you just have no idea. I could be having a truly piss-poor day, check my mail, find one of your reviews, and be lighthearted and downright cheerful for the next several hours. Some of you went into more depth in your reviews than others, and I do so love when you really _talk_ to me about the story, but every single one of them was important to me and made my day every time, even if you just said you liked it and expected a fast update. And I grinned like damn fool every time I saw one of you had added me to your favorites/author alert list. There is no better high than that.

Also, special thanks to Peace215, The Angel of Anarchy, and Tifereth Kantrishakrim, because you guys rock hard.

Also, since I can't exactly thank those who reviewed my recent oneshots, Dangerous Promises and Let Go, on those fics themselves—oneshot means oneshot, sorry; no updates—I want to give a huge thanks for them. I put a lot of work into these particular two drabbles, and I'm glad to see I'm not the only person who enjoyed them.

Minor note: In chapter one, I referred to the Wayne family business as "Wayne Corp." when in actuality it's "Wayne Enterprises". I have summarily corrected this error in both chapters.

Reviews are my drug. Feed my addiction and watch me bounce off the friggin' walls.


	3. Episode 03: Look the Part

**Summary:** AU, although it's oddly kind of a mix of Batman: TAS/TNA, JLU, and Teen Titans (CN) maybe a little from the original Teen Titans. However, still vastly different, really. It should be a fun ride.

**Rating:** M (it'll get there—probably.)

**Author's (extremely apologetic and immensely grateful) Note:** Let me begin with the bowing and scraping. So, uh. Three years. Yeah. I. Am. SO. Sorry. But if I'd forced it, it'd suck, and you don't want it to suck, do you? Right? Right. Secondly, WOW. Holy crap, this story is three years old and three years stale, and you lovely people _continue_ to astound and mystify me by reviewing, actually _saying_ things in said reviews, and _still_ demanding updates, despite my despicably obvious procrastination and slackerliness. You guys rock so hard, I can't _see_ straight. I completely and utterly fail to comprehend what keeps people coming to and coming back to this story, but I am made low and humble by your kindness and enthusiasm. May this third, much belated chapter stand a chance of living up to your expectations. More after the chapter.

**Disclaimer:** I hereby _dis_claim. I claim not.

--------------------------------------

↔_**Episode: 03↔**_

_**Look the Part**_

--------------------------------------

To a man who was used to the grime and crime of hard-edged Gotham, Jump City was a bit like falling through the looking glass.

Not to say that Jump was without its miscreants or anything less than your average city; there were the petty thefts, the juvenile delinquents out to paint the town red, and a normal margin of apathetic citizenry. But for such a large, sprawling urban center, Dick was almost shocked at how low the crime rate was. Perhaps Gotham had him ruined as far as his expectations in humanity went, but the overall surface _peace_ of Jump City was almost… _surreal_.

Crouched among the sunset-shadowed glowering gargoyles keeping sentry atop Jump's St. Jude's Cathedral, Dick scanned the streets below him, wondering if Nightwing would be consigned this night to the foiling of a solitary purse-snatcher. He should be grateful there was no great wrongdoing needing his intervention, but as he stood, the wind running cool fingers through his hair, he felt strangely discomfited and disappointed.

Where were the rapists? The murderers and muggers? Where was the night-stalking revelry of costumed villainy? Not to say a world without such horrors was undesirable... it was merely impossible. Unbelievable. But try as he might, Nightwing couldn't seem to find the missing mayhem. Nor, though he searched and scoured, could he find _why_.

The police force was tough on crime, and their detectives were hard working, dedicated, good at their jobs. But not so good that their city should be as quiet as a sleepy suburb. It was absurd. Baffling.

"Maybe you're just being too jaded, Dick. Maybe this is why Bruce retired here," Dick muttered to himself. It made a certain sort of sense. Dick knew Bruce well; he knew Batman better. If he intended to well and truly give up the cape and cowl, relocating to a hotbed of criminal activity would not be the way to do it.

Frowning distractedly, Nightwing sighed through his nose and reached for the grappling gun on his belt. The quietude of Jump City was definitely a matter for further investigation. But at the moment, all was well—or well enough—and there were other matters to attend to.

Mentally cringing a little at the stack of paperwork sitting on his coffee table waiting for him, Dick fired off the hook at a distant ledge. As his body arced into the swing, he resigned himself to the "homework" Bruce had assigned him yesterday afternoon. Which he had been putting off until this evening.

Sighing again, Dick wondered just how seriously Bruce meant for Dick to be his heir. They both knew Dick wasn't giving up _his_ mask any time soon to run a Fortune 500 company, and he rather personally thought the old man would never die. He was far too tenacious to consent to just lying down and rotting one day.

But until they quit playing at whatever game they were currently dancing around, Dick would play along and play the good son, though that meant who knew what drudgeries as property manager of the Heights Towers corporate housing complex.

After all, he already had to put up with that personal assistant woman. How much worse could this day job get?

Thinking back on his recent, remarkably childish behavior towards the frosty young woman, Dick felt slightly abashed. If he were to be perfectly honest with himself, he would have to admit that most of his animosity towards Roth was really misdirected aggression brought on by the new changes and questionable motives cropping up in his relationship with Bruce.

Perhaps this question of Jump City's tranquillity would provide a good focus for his energies, a suitable distraction from the comedy of errors his daily life was becoming.

Yes, he decided. He just needed a good mystery to obsess him. He never could stand an unanswered question.

--------------------------------------

"Oh, not my toenails too, Kori. That _really_ is too much." Raven waved a hand in a weak attempt to shoo the beautiful redhead away from her feet.

Large, expressive emerald eyes showing no sign of relenting, Kori tilted her head to one side. "But dear Raven, I have already done your fingernails, and it only makes sense that your toenails should be painted to match." She donned her most beguiling smile, hand poised to dip the tiny brush back into the bottle of black polish. "Besides, you complained of a most terrible week; I wish to pamper you so that you may forget your troubles for a time."

Sighing, knowing she had lost the battle before she had begun to fight, Raven smiled fondly at the other girl. "Alright, but after you're done, we watch _Shakespeare in Love_ and eat ice cream, and no more pampering. I don't like you waiting on me."

Kori merely smiled beatifically. "I do not mind. You do so much for me, it is the least I can do in return." Head bent as she carefully coated Raven's toenails in Sass'n'Sable, Kori inquired, "So this young man, he has been… troublesome?"

Raven snorted softly, checking her fingernails for dampness. "That's putting it lightly. He seems to go out of his way to be irritating in every way, and has seen fit to hinder me at every possible turn; it's taken every ounce of patience and control I possess not to send him into some of the more horrifying hell dimensions I could name."

Kori glanced up, her brows raised in surprise. "Surely you would not actually do such a thing? He has not been _that_ troublesome?"

Raven frowned. "Close enough. And what's worse, I think he's been conspiring with Logan."

Starfire pursed her mouth in a way that hinted she was suppressing a smile. "Has Garfield been playing his pranks again?"

Mindful of her fingernails, Raven stopped short of raking a hand through her hair and settled for exhaling gustily. "Sour cream in my coffee, a rubber dead rat in my desk drawer, my screensaver changed to a grinning block of tofu… and every time, that damn Grayson 'never saw a thing'."

Kori laughed softly, smiling unapologetically when Raven shot her a look of affront. "It seems to me that Mr. Wayne was most correct in his thinking, Raven. This Grayson seems to be a very good test of your ability to control yourself indeed."

Scowling blackly at the carpet, Raven grunted her agreement. "He's lucky I haven't strangled him. That man gets on my very last nerve."

She missed Kori's quick, knowing smile.

"All done. There! Now do they not look lovely?" Kori grinned and gestured at her careful work.

Raven spared her toes an admiring glance and thanked her friend, affording her a brief but true smile. "Now, why don't you get the movie started, and I'll get the ice cream."

"Very well. Oh, walk carefully! Your toenails have not dried yet."

"Will do." Raven padded lightly from the living room and through the entry hall, the linoleum tiling cold beneath her feet when she entered the kitchen.

Retrieving a carton of triple fudge ice cream from Kori's freezer, Raven pulled down a pair of glass bowls and was rooting through the silverware drawers for a scoop when the doorbell chimed.

Setting the tablespoons in her hand on the countertop, Raven called to Kori, "I'll get it."

--------------------------------------

Dick scanned the page pinned to the clipboard in his hand, eyebrows taking a brief, skeptical hike up his forehead as he read the information provided on the printout.

"Apartment four-oh-two, Kori Anders, female, age 23." He scanned the block of text again, flipped the page over and frowned at the blank, white expanse, then reread the information he had just repeated aloud. The words didn't change, expand, or unravel to reveal their secrets.

Dick had been making his rounds all evening, introducing himself to the other residents of the building and connecting to them personally in order to assure a smooth business relationship. It had been a routine of handshaking, exchange of names, assurances that rent was not going up, and declining invitations for coffee or meals.

Until Apartment 402, Kori Anders, female, age 23.

This woman, Kori Anders, had been the last sheet in the stack on his clipboard, the last resident to visit, and the sole occupant of any of the three available two bedroom apartments on the fourth and final floor. And, unlike the sheets for other residents, the only information provided was her apartment number, name, gender, age, an account number for billing, and two contact numbers. No history, no background. No listed occupation. The other sheets—with one notable, mostly expected exception—had all been detailed and thorough, as typical of anything issued by Bruce.

Scratching at his eyebrow with a pinky nail, Dick shrugged and sighed. Bruce was probably playing more games, but perhaps this little interview would yield some answers.

He raised his hand, pressing the little glowing green doorbell button and listening to the newly familiar tune echo beyond the door. Someone inside the apartment called out, the words muffled, and he waited, slouching a little to appear more approachable, and preparing a slightly crooked smile to disarm and set at ease.

"May I help you?"

The door opened and the smile dropped off Dick's face like a fumbled football, his eyes popping wide and shooting to the clipboard in his hand like it had betrayed him.

"What the—what in the hell are _you_ doing here?" Miss Roth snarled, her blank expression morphing into a scowl filled with exasperation and animosity. "Suffering your presence every day at work is bad enough; _must_ you hound me at home?"

Dick was still baffled, and looked from the clipboard, to the secretary, and back again. "You're not Kori Anders. You don't live at four-oh-two."

This wasn't her apartment. She lived one floor below. He was certain of it; he'd deliberately avoided that particular address. So why was she standing here in a pair of gray yoga pants and navy wife beater?

The hostile frown on the young woman's face became a sardonic twist of the lips. "What an astute observation! Quite the detective, you are." Her face transformed again, this time into a guarded, wary look. "What do you want with Kori?"

"Raven, who is at the door? The previews have begun!" The sweet, musical voice preceded a young woman of exceptional and exotic beauty as the tall, slender figured occupant of the apartment came up behind her friend, her delicate features pursing quizzically as curious, luminous green eyes peered beyond the surlier girl's stiff frame. "May I help you?"

Dick opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by Miss Roth's—Raven, so her name was; it explained "Rae"—hand slamming into the doorjamb, her posture changing so that she filled the entryway and blocked most of his view of Kori. "I'll be in the living room in a moment, Kori. Mr. Grayson was just leaving."

"Mr. Grayson?"

Raven winced slightly at the surprise and delighted curiosity injected into Kori's voice, and she realized she's said the wrong thing. She glared cold daggers at Dick as Kori placed a slender hand on the shorter woman's arm, and Raven made room for Kori in the doorframe.

Dick was blown away by the pure exuberance in Kori's smile. "Hello! Please, come inside; I have heard a great deal about you."

"Ah…" Dick reached for one of his much used excuses not to join any of the residents for any of their invitations, but when he saw Raven try to discreetly throw Kori a panicked glance—which she ignored—he smiled brightly in return. "Thank you very much. I'd love to."

Kori darted briefly down the hall into the living room, stopping the sound of canned laughter and returning to direct the small company down the short hall and into the warmly decorated area. "Please, come be seated. Let us make ourselves comfortable."

"Ah, I'll stand if that's alright. I won't be able to stay long," Dick demurred. "So what exactly have you heard about me?" He fished, sliding a sly, laughing glance Raven's way, though she studiously ignored him and reorganized a stack of mail on an end table beside the couch.

"Well, though Raven has said much," Kori smiled blindingly, guilelessly at him, "she had not said you were handsome."

Dick's brows arched over his forehead, and he smiled awkwardly at the compliment. It was an unusually forward thing to say, yet, strangely, he did not feel quite as if he had just been hit on. "Ah, thank you."

Raven scoffed softly, and he caught her rolling her eyes. His own narrowed just slightly—was it his imagination, or did she seem slightly, well, almost _relaxed_? Or as relaxed as someone who all but tangibly bristled could be. It was an odd thing to pin down, but she seemed to carry herself less tightly, guard her expression less closely than he was used to seeing in their daily routine.

Turning his attention again to the lovely Ms. Anders, he wondered if she had anything to do with it. Smiling, he held his hand out to the vibrant woman. "Well, whatever you've heard about me, I'm sure it can't all be true, so why I don't I introduce myself anyways. I'm Richard Grayson. You can call me Dick."

"You sure can," Raven muttered, catching his eye and glaring at him over Kori's shoulder as the taller woman enthusiastically shook Dick's hand.

"It is wonderful to meet you, Dick! I am Kori Anders. You of course already know Raven." Kori smiled brilliantly and turned slightly to include her friend in the conversation. "Is it not wonderful to make new acquaintances, Raven? He is not at all so bad as you told me!"

Raven closed her eyes briefly in a way that suggested she was gathering her patience. "Kori, that's… rather beside the point." Pursing her lips, she leaned a hip against the table and folded her arms across her chest, her hostile body language a stark contrast to her vivacious friend. "Is there a reason for paying this visit, Grayson? I assume this isn't merely a social call?"

"You are correct, Raven," he said her name deliberately, relishing the way the shorter woman's nostrils flared at his uninvited use of her first name. Turning again to Kori, he lifted his clipboard and smiled with a more easy charm. "Ms. Anders."

"Please, you may call me Kori! We are all friends now, are we not?" If it weren't for an almost childish sincerity in her face, he would suspect Kori of flirting with him. As it was, she seemed merely to be exceptionally friendly.

_What on Earth is she doing keeping company with a cynic like Raven?_ He puzzled. "Kori, then." He returned her exuberant smile. "You may not know, but I'm the new property manager, and I just wanted to make sure I was familiar with all the residents, and all of you familiar with me. I was wondering if there was anything you needed done or made known about your experience living here that the previous property manager may not have addressed or acknowledged."

"Oh, not at all! Everything here is wonderful, and I am very grateful Mr. Wayne allows me to reside here." Kori sat on the back of the couch, hands clasped gaily in her lap as if she were conducting a television interview. Her personal charm was fascinating and disarming, so much so that he nearly missed the oddity of her words.

His pen pausing on his clipboard, he wrinkled his brow in a show of confusion and tilted his head curiously. "Pardon me. Did you say Mr. Wayne _allows_ you to live here?" She nodded, still smiling sunnily. "You mean you don't work for him?" He scratched his pen cap against his temple when she responded in the negative. "I was under the impression that this was company housing, and inhabited solely by employees of Wayne Enterprises."

"Oh, Mr. Wayne was very kind and made a special exception for me—"

"_Kori_." Raven stepped quickly next to her friend, silencing her with a sharp, if not unkind, glance and a touch on her arm. Kori's eyes widened momentarily, and she tucked in her lips and blushed, chastened. Raven turned her attention to Dick with that carefully blank face he had become accustomed to at work, though there was a fierce intensity in her dark eyes that took Dick somewhat aback. In that moment, he felt as if he stood before an adversary ready to throw out all the stops against him, and a chill traced up his back. "I'm afraid that line of questioning isn't any of your business, Mr. Grayson. It should be sufficient for you to know that Kori is here under Mr. Wayne's full knowledge and consent. If you wish to know more, I would suggest asking him directly, though I doubt he will tell you."

Dick's politely curious smile had cooled to a slight curve of lips, less a smile than a recognition of challenge. "Is that so?"

"Yes." Raven lifted her chin, and Dick took notice of the way she held her hands at a slight, careful distance to either side of her, a posture one might mistake for openness, but no one practiced in the art of the threat and the following through of it would confuse her gesture of readiness for anything so innocent. "Now if that is all, Mr. Grayson, Kori and I were about to start a movie."

That wasn't in the least all, but for the moment, Dick was willing to put the matter off. "Certainly, ladies. Sorry if I've interrupted your evening."

Kori, recovering from Raven's scolding, smiled sweetly and made a dismissive hand gesture. "Oh, not at all, Dick. It was a delight to make your acquaintance. Shall I see you to the door?"

Raven caught Kori's eye quickly, and they seemed to exchange words in that glance, and by the way Kori lowered her chin, Raven appeared to have won a disagreement. "Don't trouble yourself, Kori. I'll see him out."

Kori smiled again, somewhat less brightly, and nodded at Dick. "Have a lovely night, Dick. I hope we shall meet again."

"That would be nice, Kori. Have a good night, yourself." Bobbing his head genially, he turned towards the entryway as Raven stepped beside him, keeping careful inches between them and folding her arms over her stomach very carefully. "Raven." He acknowledged. She glanced at him, but did not bother to speak, turning back toward the door and ushering him into the short hallway.

Dick followed her, clipboard tucked under his arm and eyes on the back of Raven's head. She opened the door for him and stood impatiently beside it, eyes narrowing on his diplomatic smile. No doubt she recognized the neutral mask from her time spent with Bruce. "Have a nice evening, Raven," Dick said politely as he passed through the doorway.

Back out in the hallway, he turned to see her barring the door with her body, the fierceness back in her eyes. Indulging in no pretense of civility, she waited to catch his eye before saying, "If I hear anything about you bothering Kori with unnecessary questions, I will make things very unpleasant for you, Grayson. We both know whom I work for and who raised you, and I'm sure you've picked up a certain curiosity as a consequence. Nevertheless, if you decide you'd like to sniff around, I will know, and there will be… repercussions." She raised her eyebrows demandingly at his pleasantly unruffled exterior, her mouth tightening at the corners. "Are we clear on this matter?"

"Perfectly," he replied coolly. He endured a narrow glare before she nodded, apparently satisfied, and without further address turned and shut the door in his face.

Dick strode towards the elevator, hands in his pockets and gait easy, whistling a little tune as his smile grew on his face. Raven was right. Growing up under the firm guiding hand of the Batman nurtured a natural curiosity to become a an unflagging appetite for mysteries and their answers. But while the puzzle Kori Anders represented was certainly intriguing, he would leave it alone, as promised. For now.

In the meantime, he had at last caught onto the puzzle that had been under his nose all this time, a riddle he should have taken notice of since the moment he was asked a question in the form of a sentence.

It was time he bent his mind to the question:

Who is Raven Roth?

--------------------------------------

**AN:** So, uh… heheh. Bet you guys didn't believe I'd ever actually update, huh? Not that I can blame you. Sometimes I didn't believe it either. But, here it is! Tada!! Although be warned this may get re-posted in a while with some edits and touch-ups, since this hasn't been run by the betas (I wanted to hurry and get it out to you), so keep a look out! As for this chapter…

So, Dickie-boy has met Kori, and finally realized he knows jack crap about Raven Roth, and that perhaps he might _ought_ to, after all. _This_ should make things interesting.

And what's this? Do I see insinuations of an actual possible _plotline_ there at the beginning? I do declare! ;D Keep your eyes peeled, duckies. What's going on in Jump? Where are the villains? Where's Slade, Red X? The HIVE? Why is Jump so quiet without any heroes around? Where are the_ heroes_?

These questions and more answered in further installments of Awkward Entanglements! I promise not to make you wait three years for the next one. 3

Review with any questions and I'll reply with any answers I can give you. Until next chapter!

Abbie

The Utterly Lame

PS: Next Chapter: More introductions—and _action_! At laaaaast…


End file.
